Wilde-Oats-fiction-2010-Into-Temptation-by-Alex-Hogan

I’m lying on my bed with the light out staring at an imaginary spot in the darkness, just as I used to in my teenage years, hoping somehow my life could collapse into that spot, like a black hole. I can hear his voice drifting up the stairs from the lounge room. He’s a colleague of my Dad, doing the legal work in his real estate business. He’s quiet and calm. Life seems easy for him.

And he’s a 'he'.

And so am I.

When I first met him he smiled a big easy grin. I gave him a quick, polite nod and turned my head away.

I had moved into my father’s house a few months before, after Alyssa left me. She moved out of our shared house, out of Melbourne, out of Victoria altogether and up to Queensland. To make a new start, she said. I moved here to spend a bit of time sorting myself out and to look for a new place. Rents are so high these days I couldn’t afford a place on my own. Dad and I had not seen a lot of each other since he and mum had divorced, just after I’d left school. That was years ago. He had been busy trying to find his place in the world again. Now he was eager to take me in and help me; to be a dad once more.

His name is Anthony, the owner of the voice. He comes around quite often on a weekday evening. He and Dad do a bit of work then they end up sitting in the lounge room, he and Dad and Dad’s new wife, Joy, chatting away over a cup of coffee.

I join them at times. He’s always happy to talk with me. He sits there with his long, lean legs stretched out, ankles crossed, and asks me about my work and my life. I’ve hedged around the subject of my life. He smiles softly, watching, then diplomatically leaves the topic and returns to discussing my work. He has worked around a few legal offices. We social workers can sometimes be a bit sceptical of cynical lawyers, but he has done some legal aid work and has seen poor people struggle against the constraints of a society made by the rich. He laughed when I described it that way, but nodded when I told him of my work with kids left out on the streets, ignored by the comfortable people in their expensive homes. He knew someone like that once, he said, and his eyes lost focus for a moment looking at something only he could see. His long fingers tapped idly on the arm of the chair. I watched the veins in his hand flex rhythmically with the movement, then his eyes came back into focus and he caught me watching him. I coughed and looked away.

After he goes home I lie in bed worrying, tossing and turning. I’m enjoying his company, yes, he’s a good mate. But I need to stop this other thing. Stop what is just an emotional connection from turning into something stupid and physical. It’s some ridiculous hangover from my adolescent days. I need to work past this, get beyond it. I’ve been so embarrassed, and ashamed.

Alyssa left me, she claimed, because she still loved me but I didn’t love her. I desperately wanted her to stay. But when it’s late at night I do reluctantly admit that my desire for her in bed had gone. For the first few months it was there, we were on fire for each other and I couldn’t wait to move in with her and spend our lives together. This was it, I thought. She was slender and fine boned, mad on sport and worked out constantly; I loved running my hands along her legs with their tight muscles underneath.

But I lost it, the desire. The yearning for her was just a memory. I didn’t want to let go. We were still friends. We could have still had a relationship. Surely the sex dies in every long-term relationship – doesn’t it?

I’ve always been popular with girls. I never have any problems getting to know them, or getting them to like me. Not like a lot of guys. I can remember way back at school how awkward and stupid a lot of the boys became around girls. They used to snigger and make comments about all the things they’d do to the girls if they could just get them alone. But they sat on opposite sides of the lunch shelter, and never made a move to walk over and talk to them. I’ve always found it easy to talk to them. So they’ve always easily talked to me. From talking to going out to going to bed are easy steps. I’ve simply never found the right girl for me. That’s all. I thought Alyssa was, but she wasn’t. I’ll find her one day.

But I’ll be 30 in a month’s time. That makes me panic. So many others have already found their perfect girl, got married, had children.

I can still hear Anthony’s voice. Tonight it’s driving me mad. He asks Dad where I am. Dad just gives a muffled, “He’s in his bedroom … said he felt unwell.” I hear no more from Anthony. I clench my eyes tight. To hear nothing is worse.

I remember, years ago, at the beach, I followed two surfers to a small isolated cove. I was just a kid, about twelve, and was curious to see where these two were going with their surfboards. They found the small cove hidden behind some bluffs. I didn’t know the cove even existed. We used to holiday at this beach and I thought I knew every part of it. After they’d reached the cove I sat up at the back of the sand dunes and watched them as they headed for the water. I wondered why no one else was at the beach. As the two guys, both about eighteen, reached the shoreline they put down their surfboards and stripped off their bathers. They were wearing nothing. I gaped. They laughed, picked up their surfboards and continued into the surf. Just as they were about to hit the water one of them turned around and grinned at me. Then he ran in after his mate.

I’d jumped up and scurried home. It was a long walk but I did the best I could to completely blot from my mind what was happening inside my pants.

That was when mum and dad’s marriage was falling apart. They barely spoke to each other for another five years until they finally divorced. But by then I had learnt how easy it was to talk to girls and I desperately wanted to find a girl and ultimately marry and have a swag of kids.

I have trained my mind pretty well. During the day I can keep things under control, but at night in the dark all the gremlins come out and play with my thoughts – and my body.

Anthony begins talking again. Can I detect a note of disappointment? Yes. But he’s doing his best to hide it from Dad. He’s laughing and trying to pretend he is his usual, carefree self. Is Dad fooled? Dad replies with an offhand comment; I think he is. So, do I know Anthony so well that I can detect the change of tone in his voice and Dad can’t? But he is just a work friend as far as Dad is concerned.

Anthony was here one day last week. I walked with him to his car as he was leaving. I kept chatting, unable to let him go. His car was parked away from the streetlight deep in shadows. It’s a blue BMW, very impressive. I played the ‘mate’ role well and admired his car; at the same time I was trying desperately to stop myself from lingering, from wanting to be near him, but failing miserably. He grinned and asked if one day I’d like a spin in the car. “Yeah, sure. Now?” I asked. He shook his head, “too late,” but his smile was wide and inviting. He held his hand out to mine to shake. We shook, saying goodbye, but he held my hand a little too long. I looked up in surprise. He placed his other hand on mine and gave it a slight caress. I know my face flushed; fortunately the darkness would have hidden it. I ventured a tentative smile. He smiled back. We had communicated. “Next week then?” he asked softly. I nodded, my heart pounding. He gently let my hand go and left.

Now it is next week. But I’m frightened. Or I’m being disciplined. I can’t tell which. I have spent seventeen years chasing girls, I can’t destroy that now. All I need to do is find the right girl.

I start breathing slowly, trying to control myself. I concentrate on an image in my mind, a tree waving in the spring breeze, gentle and slow. I can hear the lounge room door open and the voices are louder. “Sorry that Jacob didn’t make it down,” Dad says.

“Hope he’s okay?”

“Sure he will be, didn’t seem too bad, just stressed from work. He always is. It’s a hard job he has.”

“Yes, of course.”

“Well, see you at the office.”

“Yes. Say hello to him… If he’s interested.”

If I’m interested? The sadness in Anthony’s voice reaches out to me. Now even Dad could recognize it.

“OK. I’ll tell him,” Dad says, perplexed.

Breathe slowly – look at the tree.

“That’s… Well, that's what happens. Goodbye, then.” The front door opens and closes, then I hear Dad’s footsteps retreat into the lounge room.

Silence. He’s gone.

I’ll find the perfect girl to spend my life with.

I jump up. My body has taken control, my mind no longer capable of stopping it. I run out of the room, down the stairs and out the front door. I hear Dad’s voice call out a query to me just before the closing of the door cuts it off.

“Anthony!” I call out, frightened he has left; but his car is in its usual spot, in the shadows, and a long thin figure stands next to it.

I run up to him. “Anthony.”

“I thought you were ill?” he says, his voice barely audible.

“Oh, no – only tired. I fell asleep. Woke up just as you were leaving.”

He gazes at me, apprehensively.

I smile weakly. “Maybe we could … go for that drive.”

I can hear the distant sound of traffic droning in the darkness as I wait, looking into the reflected streetlight in his eyes.

Slowly he smiles and takes my hand.